


From Val Royeaux with Love

by tk137



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Amazing, Brady Trevelyan, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I AM IN AWE, Mystery, Non-Canon Relationship, Post-Canon, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Slow Burn, first post on AOOO, remastered for AOOO, wow look at this tagging system
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-12 12:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11737134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tk137/pseuds/tk137
Summary: After the fall of Corypheus, the Inquistion stands as a power to be respected and feared. With power comes problems to be resolved... some of them reopening wounds from the past.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I like to call this work a "remaster" of an older story I posted on FanFiction.net. The Dragon age subreddit made me decide to try out AOOO since it receives such high praise on there.   
> This particular work is about 3 years old and written before I started to attend college. Now, as an English Major who has seen the error of my early writing ways, I decided to rework this one and add way more to it, along with writing it a hell of a lot better.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 "I have to go now," Cassandra said, her voice wavering.

Brady sat on his bed hunched over, staring down at his hands. The tightness in his chest thinned the air in his lungs. He mustered the courage to look at her and regretted it instantly.

He saw the pain on her face and his stomach churned. He saw the end in her eyes, and no matter how much he prepared for this moment, it hurt more than he anticipated.

She bowed her head, and dropped her case onto the floor, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," He murmured and stood up from the bed. “We knew this day would come, eventually. Still sucks.”

He approached her and placed her hands in his. He rubbed his thumbs against the back of her hands and exhaled.

“They don’t know how lucky they are,” he said.

She rested her head against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, placing his chin atop of her head. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He focused on the warmth of her body pressed against him and the faint scent of lavender and fresh rain present in her hair.

She nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck. He felt the dampness of her face against his skin, sending a mild shiver through his body. He held her close and pressed a kiss against her head.

She looked up to him, her eyes red and puffy. A single tear rolled down from the corner of her eye. He brushed it away with his thumb, a solemn smile surfacing on his lips.

“I thought we agreed on no tears,” he said, tucking a short hair behind her ear.

She laughed, wiping her hand underneath her eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I’ll miss you, too.”

She pressed a deep kiss against his lips, then turned away, grabbing her case and descending the staircase. They shared one final look, void of words, and she disappeared down the stairs.

The bedroom door opened and shut. He shut his eyes and craned his neck to the ceiling, dispelling a deep breath from his chest. She wanted this, he reminded himself, and any last-minute plea to make her stay was less than she deserved. It was over, it had to be.

His walked out of his bedroom and onto the balcony. The caravan waited at the interior gate, flanked by Cullen and Josephine. The skies were clear, with the sun beaming against the stone walls of Skyhold. The fresh mountain air cooled his skin. Cassandra descended the stone staircase beside Leliana. They shared their goodbyes with tight embraces. Cullen threw her case into the caravan and helped her climb inside.

The coachman flicked his wrings, and the caravan crawled across the bridge and out of Brady’s sight. He gripped the balcony railing until his knuckles paled and hung his head. Blood rushed to his fingers as he turned away from the balcony and returned to his bedroom.

Brady sprawled out on his plush couch with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He brought the bottle to his lips and took a sip. Drops of liquor crawled down from his chin to his neckline, staining his collar with splotches of light brown.

He heard a commotion outside of his bedroom door and listened in.

"Should we knock?" Josephine said.

"What if he wants be alone?" Cullen asked, his voice sharp.

Brady groaned and sat up from the couch, wiping his chin with his sleeve.

"Just open the door, Commander." Leliana urged.

The bedroom door opened. Brady greeted his advisors as they ascended the stairs and stood in his bedroom.

"Inquisitor," Josephine said, then looked at Cullen and Leliana.

"Do you need me in the war room?"

"No," Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, "We- wanted to make sure you were okay."

Brady waved the bottle in his hand, the liquor slushed against the glass. "I’m pretty okay."

Leliana sat next to him on the couch, and placed a hand on top of his. "I cannot imagine what you are going through, but you are not alone. We all lost Cassandra today."

"She is going to do great things for the Chantry, and for all of Thedas," Cullen remarked, "You did right by supporting her. Remember, she wanted to change the world, even if that meant she had to do it herself."

"I know," he grinned and shrugged his shoulders, "Thanks for checking on me. Really. I’ll be alright.”

"Of course, Inquisitor." Leliana nodded her head, and headed down the stairs.

"If you need anything, Brady, you know where to find us. All of us." Josephine added.

He nodded and laid back on the couch. After finishing his bottle shortly after his advisors took their leave from his bedroom, his eyes grew heavy. He fought the sleepiness wracking through his body, but to no avail.

 

* * *

 

 

A knock on his bedroom door woke him. He groaned and forced himself upright, rubbing the stubble on his jaw.

Another pattern of knocks brushed against the door. Brady stood up and stretched out his spine, twisting his torso around.

“Who is it?” he said, his voice soaked with sleep.

"It's me," Varric said, his voice muffled behind the door.

Brady yawned and drug his feet to the door, opening it and stretching his arms out on the doorframe. “Varric.”

Varric stood with a crooked smile, “You know what will get your spirits up?”

“What?”

“Going to the tavern and spending time with the rest of us. I’m sure we could get a game of Wicked Grace going.”

“Alright,” Brady grinned. "As long as your buying."

"I don’t make enough in royalties to pay for all the drinks you probably need right now," Varric chuckled.

 

* * *

 

 

"Two mugs of your strongest mead," Varric ordered the bartender.

He nodded and fetched them two drinks with haste.

Brady picked up his mug and drank it to the bottom. He thumbed the foam off his lips and signaled for another drink.

Varric watched him in astonishment take each mug served to him to the face while Varric still held his first mug.

The Iron Bull took a seat beside Brady and ordered a drink. “First one to the floor has to pay for tomorrow night's drinks," Bull said, receiving his drink from the bartender.

"I'll take you up on that," Brady said with a smile.

"I see drowning our sorrows is the way to go, right, boss?"

Brady chuckled, "Is there any other way?”

“Good point.”

Blackwall and Sera entered the tavern and took their places beside the rest of the group.

"Someone pour me a drink, yeah?" Sera said, leaning against the counter.

The tavern filled as the night continued. They sat and drank, playing rounds of wicked grace and enjoying the minstrels quick melodies.

Brady stood up, wobbling between his feet. "I feel like dancing, anyone feel like dancing?"

"Dancing. Ooohh, that sounds fun!" Sera shot up from her seat and joined him, dancing around a clearing on the tavern floor.

"You're quite good at this!" She shouted to him over the music.

"Only with a couple drinks in me," he smiled.

"A couple?" Bull interjected, "You're hogging all of the ale!"

"Seriously, you alone are bleeding this place dry," Varric quipped.

He laughed at them, and continued to dance, encouraging agents of the inquisition and serving girls to join him on the floor.

Varric mumbled under his breath, "This might've been a bad idea."

Blackwall overheard Varric, "Oh, come on, look at him. He's having a good time."

They watched him move in rhythm with the minstrel’s song. Women crowded the floor, enjoying a dance with Brady and Sera, alike. Sera danced around with Dagna, twirling her around on the floor.

Brady noticed the lingering touch of the women he danced with, but was too lost in his drunken haze to pay them any mind.

The door swung open and let in a cold wind. The Inquisition's advisers stood in the threshold, their eyes widening at the sight they were seeing.

Cullen cleared his throat, "Um, Inquisitor." His voice was lost to the loud music and cheery people.

"This is... different," Josephine said.

Leliana smiled at the sight, "So much for some 'time alone'... I'll fetch him."

She maneuvered through the crowd with ease and placed hand on his shoulder. He spun around and greeted her with a wide smile, the dimples on his cheeks prominent.

"Leliana!"

"Inquisitor, there are important matters we need to discuss-"

He took a hold of her gloved hand and spun her around. "C'mon Spymaster, have some fun," he said, "You officially have a night off."

She laughed, but caught a glare from Cullen, and pulled her hand away from him.

Brady noticed and smirked. He pointed to the doorway and shouted over the music, "Hey ladies, Commander Cullen and our ambassador love to dance. Why don't you bring them out to the dance floor?"

The flock of women that crowded around the inquisitor rushed over to Cullen and Josephine, dragging them away from the doorway to join them.

Cullen evaded the dancing and joined the rest of the men at the bar while Josephine flung her clipboard onto a table, let down her hair, and began dancing to the music that flooded the tavern.

Brady brought his eyes to Leliana and smirked, "It's not a real party until somebody's small clothes are pinned to a chantry board, right?"

"We'll see about that, Inquisitor."

"Now," He held out his hand to her, "What about that dance?"

She glanced down at his hand, the grin on his face warm and welcoming. His hazy eyes were no more than slits, but the pale blue color beneath his eyelids managed to keep their prominence.

"I have matters to attend to."

He sneered playfully at her, until his attention was stolen by a tavern patron that tugged on his arm and pleaded for a dance. When he entertained the patron's request, he managed to steal a glance back over to where Leliana stood no longer.

 

* * *

 

 

Brady woke up with a throbbing in his head. The sun mocked him and made him feel sick with its piercing light through his glass stained windows. He attempted to sit up, but his body failed him. His fingers squeezed the sides of his temples while his eyes welded shut. He reached out to the other side of his bed and groaned when his hand fell flat on the mattress.

A raven perched itself on his balcony and sung, Leliana’s subtle way to tell him the day has begun. He used all of his strength to lift himself off the bed and throw on some clothes. He walked out to the balcony and buttoned his jacket. The Inquisition was well into the day, with the daily soldier training in the courtyard already over.

He rushed down to the main hall and into the war room. Cullen stood over the table, shading his eyes with his hand from the sunlight. Josephine’s eyes were shut as she rubbed her temples.

Leliana chuckled at them, "At least you all had fun."

Cullen groaned, "This is why I rarely drink."

"Please, keep your voices down." Josephine pleaded.

"Let's get through this meeting so we can all recover, alright?" Brady spoke up, and began discussions on war table missions.

When all the advisers said their piece and were assigned to certain tasks to command, the meeting was adjourned.

They all started to heard out of the room, until Brady spoke up, "Leliana, a moment?"

Cullen and Josephine looked behind them with a sense of confusion, but then continued out of the room.

"Of course, Inquisitor." She walked back into the war room.

"May I ask you a question?" He said, leaning his leg against the table and crossing his arms.

"Of course.”

"How do you do it? Keep everything so in check... Your emotions, mostly."

"Practice. When I was a bard, I had to wear a mask to hide who I was. I became a different person when I needed to be, blocking out who I truly was and felt," she glanced down, then returned her eyes to him with a small smile. "But you stopped me from becoming something I was not."

"I just don’t know," he shook his head. “Without Cassandra… It’s hard to think. Hard to smile… Without a drink or three, at least.”

"We all have our masks, Inquisitor. Sometimes, our only true face is when we are alone."

"There's wisdom in that," he bowed his head, "Thank you."

"Just remember," she placed a hand on his shoulder, "Do not think that you need to change. I have learned it is best to stay true to yourself."

"Your help is appreciated, spymaster." He bowed his head.

She retracted her hand and smiled with a nod, "Anytime, inquisitor."


	2. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a year, the Inquisition receives a letter from Divine Victoria.

The hot sun reflected and beaded Brady’s forehead with a damp ring of sweat. His blade glistened against the bright light and blinded unfortunate onlookers that surrounded the sparring ring and watched Brady and Blackwall spar.

Agents and merchants made a habit of enjoying Brady’s friendly bouts inside of the ring. They made bets and cheered on their chosen champion, sometimes the Inquisitor himself, and just as often, his opponent.

Brady bounced away from Blackwall and caught his breath. His lips stretched into a bright grin.

"I believe your age is catching up with you."

He spun, rotating his head to ensure his eyes remained on his opponent, and slashed his blade toward Blackwall’s breastplate. Blackwall rose his shield and deflected the force of the strike. Brady’s blade bounced away from the metal with a vibrating clash that echoed across the courtyard.

"Trying to get in my head? You should know better by now," Blackwall taunted, and swiped the flat of his blade at Brady’s upper arm.

Brady pulled the hilt of his blade upward and blocked the attack with the center of his blade. He swirled his blade in a half-circle and dug the tip of Blackwall’s sword into the dirt. Blackwall forced his blade from the dirt and tightened his grip.

A sparring match was always a treat for those watching, but the intrigue in their matchup rivalled any other competition the audience witnessed before. Brady and Blackwall knew one another too well to make quick work of each other.

A commotion erupted. The crowd split open through the middle and allowed the ambassador to maneuver to the sparring ring with little difficulty. She apologized to each person she passed, to which they reciprocated with sincerity.

Josephine called for Brady. His turned to Josephine and gave her his full attention. Blackwall slapped the flat of his blade against Brady’s chest.

Brady glanced at Blackwall with a sneer, “That was cheap.”

Blackwall rested his weight on his back foot and shrugged with a small grin.

"A moment, your worship," Josephine said. “This is a matter of urgency.”

Blackwall sheathed his sword. "Show’s over," he announced.

The crowd dispersed with low grumbles and dissipated around the courtyard. Blackwall fixed his shield onto his back and greeted Josephine with a bow, then exited the sparring ring.

Brady lifted the bottom of his shirt and wiped the sweat from his face. He dropped his shirt and jumped over the wooden fence. He brought his eyes to Josephine and grinned at the crease between her brows.

“What’s got you so worried?”

"We have a received a letter from the Grand Cathedral," she looked around them and continued. "the rest must be discussed in private."

“Her Holiness sure took her time contacting us."

"Better late than never."

"A year late," he added.

She led him to the main hall with haste in her steps. He broke into a jog to remain close to her side. He sped ahead of her and opened the door to her office, waving her through the threshold while he caught his breath.

"Come on, Cullen and Leliana are waiting for us."

He huffed and continued to follow her. She pulled the war room doors open and allowed for him to walk through with her. Cullen and Leliana stood in front of the war table and greeted them with brisk pleasantries. Josephine circled around the war table and stood beside them. Brady stood on the opposite side and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Inquisitor, we have received-"

“A letter from Cassandra."

Cullen nodded.

Leliana held up the letter and scanned her eyes across the page.

"What Divine Victoria wrote was very... vague."

Leliana handed Brady the letter. It read:

 

_Inquisitor Trevelyan,_

_Something of your urgent attention is needed in Val Royeaux._

_Bring yourself and Sister Nightingale to the Grand Cathedral_

_where I will inform you of more information._

_My thanks,_

_Divine Victoria_

 

“This is in her hand,” Brady looked up from the letter. "Hardly sounds like her, however. Why the secrecy?”

"That is unknown. We are taking necessary precautions to keep this between us,” Leliana said.

“Suppose that this is a trap," Cullen rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. "We should send inquisition forces into the capital.”

"We already have forces there, sending any more would no doubt upset the nobility," Josephine argued.

“Forces will follow us, but from a distance. It's best to treat this as a delicate matter. Josephine, contact nobles with lands outside of the capital city and come up with something clever so we can station a force there without suspicion."

She nodded and began scribbling onto her pad.

"You and I will leave for the city as soon as possible," Leliana informed him.

Brady scratched the light scruff underneath his chin, "I suppose I don't have time to shave?"

"A coach should be ready within the hour," Cullen said.

“We all have our duties,” Brady said. “Let’s get on with this.”

They nodded in confirmation.

Brady exited the war room and up to his bedroom.

He packed a week’s worth of clothing and hoped it would be enough. Into the pockets of his pack, he shoved a flask of liquor, parchment, a quill and dark ink. He tucked three small vials of health poultice deep into the pack and padded the glass with his clothing.

Inquisition agents allowed themselves into his bedroom. They packed his armor and paperwork, then brought it to the coach.

He slipped on a light, black long-sleeved tunic and tucked his Andrastian charm necklace into the collar. He fixed a dark leathered jerkin and tied the strings tight, then secured a long, black cape with a red fox pelt sewn into the top trim onto his shoulders.

He searched his desk and ravaged through the drawers for extra ink and quills. The bottom drawer, covered in dust, was a worn book. He ran his hand over the cover and chuckled, then fell silent. He closed the drawer and stood on the balcony.

The crisp mountain air chilled his face and forced his eyes to squint.

Leliana stood in the courtyard by the prepared coach. She wore a dark red cloak, the hood secured over her head and an oak bow and quiver latched to her back, the brown leather belt strapped across her torso contrasted with the cloak’s dark fabric on her shoulder.

Inquisition agents dropped his equipment into the coach. He turned into his bedroom and secured his long blade into its scabbard and joined Leliana in the courtyard.

"Inquisitor," a deep voice called out.

A dwarven man with cropped red hair and a bushy beard with white hairs sprouted on his chin held the wrings of the coach.

"Coachman.”

"Are you ready to leave, your Worship?”

Brady glanced at Leliana. She nodded, and climbed into coach. Brady jumped in behind her and settled into his seat. Brady informed the coachman of their readiness. The coachmen flicked the wrings and set the coach into movement.

They fell silent as the coach departed past the main gates of Skyhold and rocked with the rubble of the roads beneath the wheels. Skyhold faded in the distance. Brady rested his back against his seat and stretched his legs out.

“I don’t suppose you have any tales to pass the time?”

Leliana narrowed her eyes with a slight smile, “I don’t suppose you do, either.”

“Mine tend to be inappropriate in polite company.”

“And you consider me polite company?”

“I absolutely do.”

“I’d much rather hear what you have, Inquisitor.”

“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he unwove his arms. “What are you in the mood for? Horror, suspense? Perhaps romance?”

She laughed, “What do you know of romance?”

“Quite a bit,” he smirked. “Could tell you all about my first kiss when I was a child. Might more embarrassing than romantic.”

“Embarrassing? What, did you miss?”

He scratched the nape of his neck and chuckled, “To put it lightly.”

“Tell me,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and leaning forward.

“You know of my aunt Lucille?”

Leliana nodded.

“She threw these huge balls. My older sister and I hated every second of them. We would always find ways keep ourselves entertained. Bothering the guards, dancing with guests for a few coppers, whatever. Well, one time, I had to be about nine or ten, we convinced our friends to play hide-and-seek across the entire estate.

“I had a huge crush on one of my sister’s friends,” Brady shook his head and laughed. “I swear I thought her to be the most beautiful thing in the Free Marches.”

“Did your sister know?”

“I’m sure everyone did,” he said. “When we split up, I told her I knew all the best places to hide. I led her to a small broom closet in the guest wing. We squeezed in, stifling our voices lest we be found. It was pitch black in there, couldn’t see a damn thing.”

“Romantic.”

He cocked a brow, “Quite.”

“Did you mistake a mop for her?”

“I wish that were the case,” he chuckled. “We sat in the broom closet for a good five minutes when she pulled on my jacket and tried to kiss me. But instead of finally kissing her, our noses collided and mine began to bleed all over her face and dress.”

Leliana’s eyes widened as she gasped, then let out a laugh.

“She screamed bloody murder and ran out of the closet,” Brady ticked his head to the side. “It wasn’t hard for the other players to find us after that.”

Leliana slapped her hands against her knees and craned her neck with a loud laughter. A smile lingered on her lips and she asked, “What became of the girl?”

“I believe she joined the templars,” his voice trailed away. “I hope she wasn’t roped into the mage-templar war.”

“Ostwick sounds amazing.”

“You’ve never been?”

“It seems like I’ve been everywhere but there,” She shook her head. “What’s it like?”

“Beautiful. From the docks to the farmlands, it’s all home to me. Skyhold’s great, but I miss my sister, my father,” he sighed. “I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I nearly ran to the conclave when my family told me I was to go. Funny how things change.”

“Life does that.”

He glanced at Skyhold, the grand structure shrunk in the distance, almost lost to the landscape. “Wouldn’t change a thing, though. We sure built something great.”

“That we did.”

Conversation faltered. Brady occupied himself with paperwork. Leliana followed suit, flicking through papers and signing reports. They traded pages every so often and asked advisement of one another. Stacks of paper accumulated beside them. Leliana weighed her pages down with a dagger. Brady used an unopened flask and flinched with every breeze that invaded the coach.

“You think it will be strange? Seeing Cassandra?” Leliana asked, her attention directed to a piece of parchment in her hand.

“We haven’t spoken since she left. I’m not sure how it will go,” Brady glanced at her and set a page underneath his flask. “Promise to warn me if I become a bumbling fool?”

“Don’t worry, Inquisitor,” she met his eyes and grinned. “I won’t let you compromise us.”

The corner of his mouth pulled into a small smile. The sunlight struck against his face and demonstrated the light, icy color in his eyes and highlighted his short, golden locks. Her cheeks grew rosy as she forced her eyes onto the parchment in her hand. He ran his fingers through his hair and returned his attention to his paperwork.

“Inquisitor,” the coachmen called out. “Bandits on the road ahead.”

Leliana rolled her eyes, “Do you wish to take care of them, or should I?”

“Both of us will,” he said. “C’mon.”

They waited until they drew closer and hopped out of the coach.

“I’ll take point,” Brady said, drawing his blade. “You stay hidden and pick them off from back here.”

Leliana narrowed her eyes and unfastened her bow from her back. She stepped away from the cover of the coach and nocked an arrow.

“Aye!” A bandit called out, directing the group’s attention to Leliana.

Brady shook his head and stood in front of Leliana, “Secrecy is supposed to be your specialty.”

The bandits marched forward with heavy steps, reaching for their weapons.

Leliana drew back her bow, “I’m good at many things, Inquisitor.”

A straight arrow shot from her bow and soared over Brady’s shoulder, striking the leading bandit between the eyes. The bandits stopped and watched their comrade drop to the ground. With a howl, they stormed towards Leliana and Brady with their weapons raised above their heads.

Leliana drew arrows from her quiver and thinned their numbers with every shot. Brady waited with determined patience until they were in his range. He walked forward and begun to strike down the bandits with quick waves of his blade.

They crowded around him and struck with anger rather than sense. Brady deflected each blow, slicing through the thin, mangled armor and into the necks of his attackers. A bandit raised his blade and forced a two-handed blow towards Brady’s shoulder. Brady crouched and parried from the strike, then pushed the pommel of his sword into the bandit’s stomach. Brady straightened and saw the bandit doubled over. He rose his blade and cut straight through the bandit’s neck.

He turned to Leliana and watched a puff of smoke rise behind her. The small frame of a man appeared from the cloud.

“Behind you!” Brady yelled, breaking into a sprint.

Leliana rose her elbow and shot it back, striking the rogue in the nose. She spun and smacked her bow against the rogue’s face. He stumbled back. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, nocked it, and aimed it at her attacker. He dropped his dagger and stood with his hands raised.

“Wait,” Brady said, stopping by her side and sheathing his blade.

Her face scrunched as she pulled back on her bowstring, “Why?”

Brady shot her a glare. She lowered her bow with a huff. He approached the rogue and grasped his collar.

The rogue pleaded with Brady, sniffling through his bloodied nose.

“Do you value your life?” Brady asked, his voice even.

The rogue’s eyes flickered over Brady’s shoulder and onto Leliana, then shifted back to Brady. He nodded with unblinking eyes.

“Tell your friends to stay off these roads, or you will all face drastic consequences by the courtesy of the Inquisition.”

The rogue bumbled his agreeance. Brady rose his brows and clenched his collar. He pulled the rogue to Leliana and yanked his collar toward the ground. Leliana brought her eyes to Brady and cocked her head.

“And apologize.”

The rogue rose his eyes to Brady, “I’m s-sorry-“

“Not to me,” Brady sighed and shook his collar. “Do you not know common etiquette? Never sneak up on a lady.”

The rogue flicked his eyes to Leliana and apologized with a laughable thoroughness.

“The Inquisitor showed you a kindness by allowing you to keep your life, do not squander it.”

“Yes, m’lady. Of course, m’lady.”

Brady released the rogue and waved him away. The rogue broke into a sprint and stumbled up a snowy hill, then disappeared on the other side. Brady laughed and walked towards the coach.

Leliana pushed his shoulder with a small laugh, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I enjoyed it,” he shrugged. “didn’t you?”

She shook her head and followed him to the coach. He stepped into it and offered Leliana a hand. She slipped her hand into his and allowed him to help her up. They plopped onto a seat beside each other and took in long, deep breaths.

Brady told the coachman to continue, and he did, following the road at a steady speed. He reached for his pack and placed it between his legs. He rested his back against his seat and shivered at a cool breeze. He adjusted his furs around his neck and huddled into the small comfort of warmth.

Leliana yawned and shook out the chill that passed through her. Brady peered out of the coach and at the sun falling behind the mountains.

“We could set up camp soon if you wish to rest,” Brady offered.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, suppressing another yawn with her gloved hand. “We need to keep moving.”

He resisted an insistence and grabbed a small book from his pack and cracked it open. He attempted to read the words on the page, but his attention divided when a soft snore escaped from Leliana. He cocked a brow and suppressed a chuckle at her limp body and bobbing head, her eyelids fighting the sleep that drew them closed.

Her face fell into a peace that only sleep brought. He unbuckled his cape and draped it over her body. She nuzzled underneath warmth of his thick cape. The fur brushed under her chin. She cuddled his cape around her neck and settled into her seat.

Brady returned to his book, cautious not to disturb her. The caravan rattled against the road, shaking the words on the page. Her head slipped and rested onto his shoulder. He stiffened as she cuddled closer, then relaxed, relieved by the small warmth she brought, combating the cold.

He tossed the book to the side. The light of day faded from the sky. He sighed. Any progress on the road would cease with the night.

He slouched and neglected to make the call to the coachman to make camp. He crossed his arms and tucked his hands into his sides. His eyes grew heavy and he succumbed to his own exhaustion.


	3. Campfire

The deep, booming crack of the coachman’s voice jolted Brady awake. "It's too dark to continue, Inquisitor," he pulled the materials for camp from the caravan.

Leliana’s arms were snugly wrapped around Brady’s arm. "Hey," he murmured. She didn't budge. His free arm nudged her shoulder, "Leliana."

Her eyes fluttered open. She squinted at him, sleep continued to pull at her eyelids. She peered down and widened her eyes, then untied her arms from his. "I'm sorry, Inquisitor. I did not mean to-"

"It's fine, I dozed off a bit, too." he admitted. She handed him the long, black cape that draped over her, and he snapped it onto his shoulders.

She yawned, "Are we making camp?"

"Come on," He rose and hopped out of the caravan. "Let's get a fire going out here or something." He offered her a hand and led her out of the caravan.

The coachman already had one tent pitched. He fiddled with the canvas of the second tent. Brady rushed over and helped the coachman continue to raise the tent. Leliana made quick work of a fire, feeding branches and dead grass into the flame until she was satisfied.

Once the second tent was completed, Brady searched for supplies for the third. The coachman itched the back of his neck and sighed. Brady cocked his head, “Only two tents?”

"This is all the ambassador gave me, besides a cache of food." He replied, pointing over to the crates of fruit that sat near the vacated caravan.

Brady darted his eyes between the two tents. “I’ll stay watch tonight. The two of you take the tents.”

Leliana’s ears perked up. She looked over her shoulder, “Inquisitor, allow me. You must get some rest.”

He walked towards the fire, “You’re exhausted. I must insist.”

“Surely you are not going to let your stubbornness get in the way of your better judgement,” she half scolded, pursing her brows together.

“Then you must know me as well as you think,” he chuckled and took a seat beside her by the fire. “Because that is exactly what I’m going to do. Consider it an order.”

She sighed in protest. The coachman carried the cache of food to the fire and took a seat adjacent to Leliana and Brady. He tossed them compressed bundles of dried fruits and sighed, “I wish we had nug meat.”

"Perish the thought," Leliana’s nose scrunched. Brady breathed a laugh and indulged in his ration of sweet fruits. She leaned her elbows against her knees and leaned forward, “How much farther to Val Royeaux?”

"Give or take an hour or two,” the coachman replied.

A cool breeze kissed the flames and pulled them with the direction of the wind. They ate in silence. The fire cracked and popped embers into the night. Whispers from the wildlife cooed and beckoned around the campsite.

The coachman excused himself and retired to his tent. Brady and Leliana both bid him goodnight and loosened their muscles beneath the warmth of the fire. Brady reached into his pack and pulled out a silver flask with a dark leather casing. He unscrewed the silver top and took a drink. He shivered and shook out his shoulders, the whiskey warming his chilled skin.

He held the flask out to Leliana. The flickering flame danced on her face. She shook her head. He shrugged and helped himself to another mouthful of whiskey. He looked up the night sky, the stars blanketed the darkness with specks of white light.

"You know," his eyes remained on the stars, "each one of these constellations has an elaborate story to them."

She glanced at him, then flickered her eyes to the sky. "I know. I read your report on the astrariums. It was remarkable. All of the tales the sky contains..."

He pulled his eyes away from the stars and stole a glance, her eyes soft and fixated on the stars. A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth at the fascination that overwhelmed her face. The brightness on her face was stranger to him. He was so used to her calculating persona, that he sometimes forgot she had an engaging and spirited personality behind the cloak of shadows that tended to hang over her and hide the lighter side of her.

“Once,” her head began to turn to him. He redirected his eyes back to the sky. "I told the Hero of Ferelden a tale about literal star-crossed lovers once... their love forever illuminating the sky. It was one of his favorites."

"Ironic considering..."

She hummed. "Perhaps that is why he liked it so much."

“My mother loved folktales and stories. Her favorite were always ones of heroes and heroines, with a steel will to complete their quest, no matter what,” he pulled on a smile. “My favorite was the tale of Garahel. I’d heard it a million times, but I always wanted to hear it again. Every night, I asked her to retell it.”

She cocked a brow, “Was it because of the griffons?”

He rose his eyebrows and barked a laugh, “Yes!” He narrowed his eyes with a smirk, “How did you know?”

She rolled her eyes, “Boys and their griffons,” a faint laugh escaped her lips.

“After she passed away, I read the tale from one of my storybooks,” his smile faded into a frown. His brows twitched, “Wasn’t really the same.” He glanced to the stars and took a swig from his flask.

“I do not remember much of my mother,” Leliana murmured. “But I remember her love of stories.”

He looked into her eyes and bobbed a knowing nod. A silence fell between them, loud with understanding and calm sympathy. He nipped at his inner cheek and cast his eyes to the ground. “Aren’t we just a pair of sad, motherless children?”

She grabbed the flask from his hand and took a swig. The liquor filled her cheeks until she gulped it down her throat. She spat onto the ground and wiped her hand across her lips with a disgruntled chuckle, “How do you drink that?”

He shrugged with a laugh, “It’s quick.”

“It’s horrendous.” He rose the flask to his lips and took a drink, resting his eyes on her face. She grimaced and turned away, “If only you had wine.”

He pulled the flask from his lips and twisted the cap on, “Next time.”

Another breeze caressed him, and a yawn left her chest. She suppressed it with a closed fist and shook her shoulders.

Brady laid back and turned on his side. He pointed to the tents. "Get some rest."

"I'm alright to stay up."

"And you call me stubborn... At least one of us has to look presentable for the divine."

She cocked a brow, “And you do not want to be?”

He waved his hand, “That ship sailed and sunk to the bottom of the ocean, Leliana.”

“You say that now.” She rose to her feet and carried herself to the vacant tent. "Goodnight, Inquisitor."

Brady studied the fire, undoing the top of his flask again. "Goodnight, Spymaster."


	4. The Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana and Brady arrive at the Grand Cathedral, where Divine Victoria discloses a troubling discovery.

"There it is," the coachman pointed to the glimmering city in the distance. "Val Royeaux."

Brady peeked his head out of the caravan and marveled at the approaching buildings, decorated with flowing red ribbons draped over high balconies and the blue accents on the polished stone glistening against the high sun.

Val Royeaux, despite the cutthroat politicking, was the gem of Orlais. The streets breathed life with an intoxicating atmosphere filled with the aroma of fresh pastries and expensive perfume. Visiting the city never felt like a chore, and Brady only wished he were there on better circumstances.

"The Grand Cathedral is right up ahead, Inquisitor," The coachman declared.

"We'll take it from here," Brady grabbed his pack and jumped out of the caravan, "Take care."

Leliana followed Brady and mused to the coachman, "It's been a pleasure."

"The pleasure has been mine, m’lady," he nodded, and bid farewell to Brady. With the flick of his wrings, the coachman led the caravan through the crowded city streets and disappeared down the long, straight road above the sun kissed waves of water.

Brady slug his pack onto his shoulder and walked toward the towering castle. The hot day beaded Brady’s brow with a mist of sweat. Leliana walked at his side, greeting templars and lay sisters as their eyes fell upon her.

"I'd be lying if I didn't say I was curious as to what she wanted,” Leliana murmured.

Brady pushed the main doors open. "That makes two of us."

The main hall shimmered beneath the leaking daylight. The polished stone floor was disrupted by crisp, clean red carpet that divided and stretched down each wing and up a grand staircase seated further down the main hall. Portraits of former Divines stretched from the floor to the ceiling, lining the walls and separated by gold ornate frames.

An elderly woman approached with a bow and relieved them of their belongings and handed them to two burly templars. The elderly woman informed them that they will be placed in their respective rooms.

Brady slid his eyes to Leliana. She shrugged and asked the woman for the Divine’s whereabouts.

"She awaits you in her chamber, Lady Nightingale,” the woman replied.

Leliana thanked the woman and tugged on Brady’s arm. Brady followed her through the decadently decorated halls- almost every inch screaming with righteousness. A grand wooden door stood at the center of the Cathedral, its size towering and claiming the second story.

"I'm guessing this is it?" Brady quipped.

She nodded. He wrapped his hand around the long, golden handle. Leliana placed a gloved hand on his chest. "Are you ready for this?"

"As I'll ever be," he murmured with a grin.

She returned a smile and allowed him to pull the door open.

Cassandra sat elegantly on her Sunburst throne, pleasantly and beautifully colored in colors of red, gold, and white. She was a stranger draped in her Divine ceremonial robes and tall, crowning helm beaded with silver and gold with fine thread accentuating the trimming.

"Inquisitor," Cassandra spoke, her voice echoing around the chamber, "and Leliana. I'm glad you came in such short notice."

"Your Holiness," Brady bowed from the waist, his eyes remaining on the crimson carpet that led to the throne.

Leliana bowed her head, "You have the full attention of the Inquisition, Most Holy.” Her eyes slid to Brady.

Underneath her eyes, he loosened his shoulders and stood at his full height, resting his hand on the hilt of his blade. "Your letter was lacking, your Holiness. I’m sure our invitation here is dictated by the means to elaborate.”

"Of course, but the matter must be private," her tone was regal and distinctly foreign- a measure not meant for him, but for the perked ears of the others in the chamber feigning ignorance. She stood up from her throne, "Come. Follow me."

Cassandra led them toward a hallway through a door at the far side of the chamber. The hallway was broad and bright- stained glass windows covered the entirety of the wall and overlooked a dock. Cassandra pulled out a key and unlocked one of the hallway doors.

The room was designed as an office. An enormous mahogany desk sat in the center of the room. The surface, cluttered with papers and books, appeared to be hastily organized prior to their entrance, but remained disheveled despite the attempt. A chandelier reigned candlelight to compensate for the lack of windows.

Cassandra circled around her desk and took a seat in a large, ornate chair with golden trimming sculpted in the shape of a high flame. She propped her elbows on the surface and darted her eyes between Brady and Leliana.

Brady crossed his arms, “Don’t leave us in suspense.”

Leliana nudged him with her hip. A smirk pulled at his lips as he held back a chuckle.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, "I see some things do not change."

“Cassandra,” Leliana took a step forward. “What is wrong?"

She exhaled. "I believe there is an assassination plot against me."

Brady blinked, his arms falling to his sides. “Are you certain?”

Cassandra deflated into the back of her chair. “My guards caught a man in the garden a few nights ago. He carried a dagger hidden in his jacket.”

“Could it have been some zealot?” Leliana asked.

“That was my first thought, as well.” Cassandra shook her head. “Until I was told he showed traces of red lyrium corruption. When I sent my Knight-Captain to interrogate the intruder, he vanished from his cell.”

“Cullen has assigned soldiers to find strains of red lyrium,” Brady said. "I have seen no reports of it being near the city."

Leliana nodded. “The closest red lyrium growth near Val Royeaux is north, in the fields of Ghislain.”

“Ghislain is only a day trip from here,” Cassandra said.

“It could be the work of an outside faction,” Leliana added. “Working in secret.”

He thought for a moment, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes toward the floor. He sighed, “That’s a troubling possibility,” he faced Leliana. "But those infected by red lyrium would have a terrible time going unnoticed in Val Royeaux."

“All the more reason to believe someone may have seen something odd,” Leliana said. “There is somewhere that may give us more information. Witnesses, perhaps.”

Leliana turned for the door and tugged on his jacket, encouraging him to follow.

“Hold a moment,” Cassandra stopped them short of the door. She tipped her head and leaned over her desk. “What am I to do?”

"Your job," Brady said coolly. Her face twitched. Their eyes snapped into a held stare. His jaw muscle pulsed, and with a swallow, he averted his eyes to the door. "Best to not cause any concern until we get our footing."

Leliana point her chin to Cassandra. "Do you trust your guards?"

"With my life."

"Keep a few more around you, your Holiness… at least until we return.”

Cassandra nodded, and after a quick farewell, Leliana and Brady entered the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

“Where are we going?” Brady asked as they walked across the hall.

"An old friend, Zevran, taught me where all information ends up in any city,” she chuckled. “I have found truth in his advice."

"That still doesn’t answer my question.”

"We going to the local brothel, of course." She flashed him a smile and walked ahead.

“Wait,” he paused and raised an eyebrow. “A brothel?"

She groaned and stopped, looking to him over her shoulder. “Are you coming or not?"

He blinked and shook his head, rejoining her side. “This remains a business trip, right?”

She bumped her shoulder against his arm and giggled. “That decision is entirely up to you, Inquisitor.”


	5. The Boy and the Brothel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brady and Leliana begin their investigation in one of Val Royeaux's more interesting locations.

"You're absolutely joking, right?" Brady stopped and pointed at the sign above the door, " _The Dragonsbone..._  A suggestive name even for a brothel."

She sighed and rolled her eyes, "If I had known you would be such a prude about this, I would have came alone." Her boots clicked against the stone street as she approached and entered the door.

"I'm not a prude,” he muttered, and followed her into the building.

The Dragonsbone was alive with song and dance. Chatter accumulated and bounced off the walls, combatting the wild music the minstrels strummed and sung. Inside. Leliana elbowed her way to a seat and the bar and waved Brady over.

He sat beside her and leaned his forearms against the counter. "So,” he turned towards her, “what's the plan?"

Leliana’s eyes flickered to an older woman draped in luxurious Orlesian fabrics with jewelry that shimmered beneath the bright chandeliers aligned across the high ceilings. "See her?"

He nodded. "Am I pulling her in for questioning? I can do that." He pressed his palms against the edge of the counter and begun to rise. Leliana pressed her hand down on his shoulder, forcing him to back onto his barstool.

"Relax, Inquisitor, " she scolded. A single brow rose and wrinkled his forehead. He watched a small smile stretch across her lips. She tipped her head and pursed her lips, the corners of her mouth resisting a grin. “You will ask to use one of her services."

“You’re joking,” he snickered. Her silence eroded his smile and wrinkled his brow. “You’re not joking.”

"If you can't handle it, I will gladly do it,” she lilted.

He shook his head and shot up from his barstool. "I can handle it."

"Very well, Inquisitor. Hire a woman… or a man... and use that charm of yours to gather some information. Remember, these people hear everything." She waved the barkeep over and requested a glass of wine.

He took a deep breath and focused on each stride, attempting to radiate an aura of confidence and experience in every step. From behind, his ears caught the unmistakable sound of a chortle from Leliana. He shot a glance to her over his shoulder and was met with Leliana’s waving hand as she hid her grin behind a glass of wine.

He approached the madam and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, m’lady."

The madame swung around, her light eyes igniting as they scoured Brady’s face and lowered slowly down his frame. “My, aren’t you something?” She said, her accent a heavy Orlesian. The heavy jewelry draped around her neck clinked as she cocked her head, “Is there something I can do for you?” Her lips pursed as her eyes descended and rested at his beltline, “Or something you could do for me, perhaps?

“I, uh—” he coughed into his balled-up hand and received her eyes. He straightened to his full height, “I’d like to use one of your services, m’lady.”

"Wait,” her eyes narrowed. “Have we met before?”

“I highly doubt it,” he said. “With… all due respect, m’lady.”

"My, You're the Herald of Andraste, aren’t you?” She choked out a laugh, “Maker, I hope she isn’t watching you right now."

"Yes, well," He crossed his arms over his chest, "May I see what you have to offer?”

"Of course. Give me a moment to collect who is available." She bowed her head and walked away.

A parade followed behind the madam when she returned: two petite female elves, one with fiery red hair and the other possessing short, dark locks that accentuated a pair of emerald eyes. Another was a human woman with a slender build and long blonde hair that framed her pale face. A brunette female dwarf stood beside the human woman, wearing a scowl that wrinkled the tattoo on her cheek. The last was a skinny elven man that wore a forced smile.

"Here’s who is available," The madam crossed her arms. “Take your pick.”

He bit down on his lip and glanced to the bar behind him but noticed Leliana was no longer present. He returned his eyes to the line of workers and pointed his chin to the redheaded elf, "My lady," he leaned into a small bow and offered her his hand, "What is your name?"

Her small hand slipped into his. “I am whoever you want me to be, m’lord.”

His brows twitched as he loosened a breathy laugh, “That’s not what I asked.”

"I am yours, if you so choose. There’s no more than that.”

The madam unraveled her arms and asked for three sovereigns. Brady dropped the coin into her hand and followed the madam’s directions to the free room on the top floor. The elven woman turned his hand and led him up the staircase, stealing quick glances as they reached the room.

He urged her to wait, garnering a stare of surprise from the elven woman. He opened the door and beckoned her to enter, shutting and locking the door behind him.

"So..." his hand slipped from the doorknob, "I suppose this is the part where—"

Her hands found his shoulders and ran down his arms until they clutched onto his hands. She bit down on her bottom lip and led him toward the bed, her gaze studying every detail of his body.

“Some men prefer to undress me themselves, others like to watch,” she murmured, the rhythm of each word sounded too often spoken. “What do you wish?”

Her fingers splayed across his hands and rolled up to wrap around his wrists, leading his hands onto her hips. She threw her arms onto his shoulders and pressed her body against his, raising her lips to nip beneath his jawline, her warm breaths sending a chill through his body.

He swallowed. “I wish to know your name.”

A haughty laugh escaped her, “Men of your stature have no care for such trivial things.”

She pushed him onto the bed and looped a finger over the strap of her thin, maroon dress. The strap fell to her shoulder and exposed the lacey smallclothes beneath. His tongue darted across his lips in a desperate attempt to quell the dryness that overtook his throat.

Her dress fell to her feet. She stepped away from the ball of fabric and straddled Brady, releasing her fiery hair from its bounds with a quick reach behind her head. His hands gripped the bedsheet beneath him and fought to keep his body upright.

Her fingers fiddled with the buttons of his jacket and peeled it away from his body. He tipped his head, “Have you heard anything odd recently?”

She cocked a brow and threw his jacket behind her, “No.”

Her fingers pulled his loose, white undershirt over his head and planted slow kisses onto his bare, chiseled chest, dragging her bottom lip over his skin and rocking her hips with a slow sway on his lap. Her hands pushed against his chest and forced his back onto the mattress.

“Nothing?” He said, peering up at her. He pushed his brows together, “Think really hard, now. Anything weird or out of the ordinary, I’m here to hear it.”

She undid his belt and pursed her lips, “A customer never was that adamant about knowing my name,” she grinned and tipped her head to the side, her hair cascading and rustling beside her cheek. “Or has asked for anything weird or out of the ordinary. So, to answer your question... yes, I have noticed something odd recently.”

He sat up and looked into her eyes, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Then, could you answer this?” He reached behind her and pulled out a small dagger that rested between her shoulder blades.

Her eyes widened as he brandished the blade in front of her. She cursed with a heavy dispel of breath.

“I’ve never used one of these in bed before, but I suppose I cannot speak for the… interests… of others.”

The elven woman stammered until the creak of the closet door caught her attention. Brady looked over his shoulder and saw Leliana step out from the bedroom closet, her bow knocked with an arrowhead pointed towards the ground. The elven woman attempted to scurry away from Brady with a heightened fear blazing behind her eyes.

Leliana raised her bow and pointed it to the elven woman. “I wouldn’t.”

The elven woman spat a curse and deflated her shoulders, climbing off Brady’s lap and raising her hands up. “I was only doing what I was told,” she stammered, “The madam said to— threatened us—”

Brady stood and rested his hands on her shoulders, “It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you.” Brady followed the elven’s woman’s eyes, trained on the tip of Leliana’s arrow, and ordered Leliana to stand down. Leliana lowered her bow with a small sigh. He returned his eyes to the elven woman, “Do you have any idea why the madam would order you to kill me?”

The elven woman inhaled a sharp breath and shook her head, “She only said that if we were chosen, we were to kill you with the reward of a new life… away from this place.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

Leliana scoffed, “Please do not dismiss the fact she was willing to kill you.”

His eyes remained on the elven woman. “That new life you wanted? I can give it to you. The Inquisition is always in need of people to serve. But, you have to do one thing for me, okay?”

The elven woman’s eyes flashed across Brady’s face. With an exhale, she nodded.

He grabbed the dagger from the bed and sliced his palm with the blade, dabbing thick drops of blood across the gleaming metal. “Here,” he handed her the blade, “Tell her you did it, then find an Inquisition soldier somewhere in the city. Say, ‘abusus non tollit usum.”

The elven woman repeated the phrase.

“’Abusus non tollit usum,’” Brady punctuated. “They’ll take care of you. I promise. Now, go.”

The elven woman slipped on her dress and rushed out of the room.

“You’re putting a lot of trust into her,” Leliana said, taking a place by his side. She watched him grab his white undershirt and wind it around his bloodied hand.

He tied the fabric tight to his palm, the blood seeping to the surface of the shirt, “Terrible circumstances breed terrible decisions.” He rose his eyes to Leliana and saw her stare fixed on his bare body. A boyish laugh escaped him, bringing a bright smile to his face that displayed the small dimples on his cheeks. He stared down at his bare torso, “Is there something on me, or…?”

She raised her head and placed a coy grin on her lips. With a click of her tongue, she said: “I was wondering if you enjoyed yourself.”

He chuckled, “You could’ve told me you were going to be in there.”

“And miss your reaction? Not a chance.”

The doorknob clinked and turned. Leliana raised her bow and watched the madam pause with a foot into the bedroom. Her eyes flashed between them, her body frozen in place.

“Let’s do this the easy way, madam,” Brady teetered his head, “You come with us, we ask you a few choice questions—”

The madam’s eyes snapped into Brady’s. She curled her lip and sneered, “The Captain will come for you both,” her eyes darted to Leliana, “The Venatori will rise again!”

She dashed out of the room and slammed the door. Brady and Leliana broke into a sprint and chased her across the brothel. Confused patrons gasped and cried as the madam pushed them into Brady and Leliana. Chaos corrupted the idle chatter and the minstrel’s set, replaced by cursed commotion.

The madame climbed a staircase and glanced back at Brady gaining on her heels. She pushed through a bedroom door that filled with shrieks as they barreled into the room. The madam escaped through the bedroom window and hopped onto an adjacent balcony.

“Cut her off, I’ll follow her up here,” Leliana commanded while she jumped out of the window.

Brady ran out of the bedroom and followed the madam’s path through the top floor of the brothel. He climbed a ladder at the end of the hall and pushed through a latched hatch. He emerged onto a flat, densely shingled rooftop.

Leliana pursued the madam on the balconies below. He sprinted ahead of the madam and dropped onto a rooftop below, keeping his eyes on the madam as he attempted to predict her path.

The madam took a brisk leap onto a rooftop that lead to the docks. Leliana stopped and trained her bow, thrusting arrows rapidly until one dug into the madam’s hamstring.

Brady jumped down from the roof and landed near the madam’s head. Her eyes rose to him with a grimace, her mouth frothing and expelling labored breaths. Leliana approached in a jog, her bow clutched in her hand.

The madam peered at the arrow in her leg and seethed, directing her searing stare into Brady’s eyes. “You have no idea what is coming for you, Inquisitor,” she hissed, agony reverberating in her voice.

“I offered the easy way,” he said, breathless. He ordered Leliana to shackle the madam.

As Leliana approached, the madam reached under her dress and unsheathed a dagger from her thigh.

Brady lurched forward and outstretched his arm to grab the dagger. The madam plunged the dagger deep into her chest and went limp as a crimson pool spilled beneath her body, stretching across the moonlit shingles.

Brady craned his neck to the night sky and let out a frustrated curse. Leliana pulled the dagger from the Madam’s chest and examined the hilt.

“What in the Maker’s name is going on here?” He grumbled, shuffling his fingers through his sweaty blonde locks.

"I don't know," Leliana looked at the lifeless body, then brought her eyes to Brady, "But we need to find out... and you need to put a shirt on."

He unraveled the shirt around his hand and threw it on. He glanced down and saw a pattern of bloodstains scattered across the thin white fabric.

Leliana placed her gloved hand over her mouth and attempted to stifle a laugh. Her eyes squinted as she succumbed to a burst of laughter. “You look ridiculous.”

He ticked his head and let out a chuckle. “Sums up our evening pretty well, doesn’t it?”


	6. The Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brady and Leliana return to the Grand Cathedral.

Leliana went to her room upon their return to the cathedral and suggested Brady should inform Cassandra of the details they uncovered at the Dragonsbone. The cathedral halls were desolate and any passing templar or lay sister startled Brady as he dragged his feet to the Divine’s personal quarters.

He stood outside the white oak door and took in a deep breath, the palms of his hands slick with sweat and chilled at the brisk breeze that rolled through the hallway. He knocked a knuckle against the door and waited.

Brady blinked once Cassandra appeared in the threshold, her body draped in a white linen nightgown with a hem cropped above her knees. She gestured for him to enter and shut the door behind them. His fingers rustled through the short blonde locks on his head and stood in the center of the grand bedroom.

The Chantry spared no expense for the Divine’s quarters. The bedroom contained its own washroom and walk-in closet with rare Andrastian artifacts locked in boxed, crystal clear glass casings. The bed was draped in sheets of the finest Orlesian fabrics, the white and gold accents matching the ornate décor of the bedroom. The sheets were peeled back and bunched in the center of the gigantic mattress with a book pinned open as it sat face down near the voluminous white pillows.

The fireplace crackled and exploded, orange embers fizzling into the air above the collapsing wood.

“I didn’t know you were—” his hand snaked through his hair and ran across the stubble on his jaw. “I could come back tomorrow morning, it’s no trouble.”

“Nonsense,” Cassandra said. She reached for his shoulder and spun him around. Brady winced as her eyes widened at the sight of his blood-stained shirt.Her Her gaze scoured him as her hands ran across his cheeks, neck, and torso. “Are you hurt?”

He gently grabbed her wrists and led them away from his body. “I’m okay, Cass.” Her eyes snapped to his hand around her wrist. With a sudden jerk, he shoved both hands into his pockets. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, “Things got weird.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” she pointed at his pocketed hand, “Show me.”

A heavy exhalation left him as he removed his hand from his pocket and examined the wound for himself. "It's really not that bad," he said, squinting at the slash on the palm of his hand.

Cassandra grabbed his wrist and examined the wound. Unsatisfied, she yanked him closer with a small tug. He stumbled forward, almost into her, and rolled his eyes. Her brows pressed together, “You need stitches.”

Brady made a fist and wriggled out of her hold. “I’ll take care of it later.”

She tipped her head toward her shoulder. Her honey-colored eyes burned into his. He walked away from her and feigned interest in one of the encased baubles near her writing desk seated in the far corner of the bedroom. “We went to an establishment.”

Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. “A brothel.”

He glanced over his shoulder with narrowed eyes, then returned his attention to the bauble. “Yes, a brothel.” He tapped a finger against the glass, “The proprietor wanted me dead, had one of her employees try to stab me.”

Cassandra scoffed and undid her arms, walking over to the bottle of wine seated on a silver platter. She poured herself a glass, “They must have been pretty close to you.”

“She was,” he turned away from the encasing and watched Cassandra take a sip of wine, her legs crossed and her back slumped against the back of a wooden chair. “The madam was not happy to see me breathing.”

Cassandra’s glass wine glass muffled a chuckle. She set her glass down on the platter. “Did you charm your way out of that one?”

Brady walked toward her and shrugged. He grabbed the wine bottle, taking a quick swig and returning it to the platter. “She mentioned a ‘captain,’ and that the ‘Venatori will rise again,’” his head fell as he murmured, “Maker knows what it means, but it sure sounds bad.”

“Could Corypheus be resurrected?”

“Solas and I made sure his death was permanent. But, you have to give crazy credit where credit is due. We don’t have anything else, but we’ll keep on it tomorrow,” he rubbed the back of his neck and turned his head toward the bedroom door. “I’ll leave you to your rest.”

She lunged forward in her chair and latched onto his forearm, “Wait.”

He brought his eyes into hers and sighed, his shoulders deflating as he breathed, “Cass, we’re done here.”

“I’m not finished,” her voice quivered. Her hand slid away from his arm and slunk to her side. He swallowed and stilled. She groaned and picked up her wine glass for a drink, finishing the glass with a flick of her wrist. “There’s something—“ her eyes fell to her fingers toying with each other— “something I wish to say.”

“I’m listening.”

“This hasn’t been easy,” she said. “Sometimes I think about you—”

“You knew what it meant for us when you accepted,” he murmured. “This was never going to be easy. For either of us.”

Her eyes rose into his, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips. “You blame me.”

“No,” he said. “You made the right choice.”

“Did I?”

“I have to believe it,” he said, crestfallen. “You should, too.”

Brady took one last glance at Cassandra, her eyes focused on the empty wine glass beside her. He left her bedroom and took in a deep breath, his heart a thumping drum beat between his ears.

He retired to his room and stripped down to his underclothes, tossing the bloodied shirt across the room and pulling a loose pair of cotton trousers and a whiskey bottle from his pack. He slipped on the trousers and brought a bottle to bed, resting his back against the headboard and taking mouthfuls of whiskey periodically while watching the candlelight dance against the walls. Drops of liquor crawled from his lips and soaked his chin, creating a stream to drip and dampen Brady’s bare chest.

A patter on the door was accompanied by Leliana’s voice. He ran his hand across his dribbling chin and met her at the door, draping his body across the threshold.

She cocked a brow, “Am I interrupting something?”

His lower lip pouted as he shrugged. “Nothing important.”

She narrowed her eyes and pushed through him into the room. He shut the door and watched her rummage through a drawer and pull out a small wooden box. She pointed to the end of the bed and ordered him to sit. He plopped onto the foot of the bed and placed the bottle beside his feet.

Leliana knelt beside him and flicked the lid of the box open. It was filled with quick fixes for ailments that happened in the field of duty— fast solutions until access to a healer was available.

“Not you, too,” he grimaced.

She asked for his hand. He huffed, then laid his hand flat into hers. Her fingernail popped the cork from the small vile of health poultice and poured the red liquid across the gash. A sharp inhale sucked into his chest through his gritted teeth.

Leliana reached into the box and prepared the sharp needle with the thick, black thread. Brady’s turned away and welded his eyes shut. The needle pricked through the parted skin and pinched the laceration together with every weave. A muffled growl rumbled in his throat as Leliana continued. He bit into his clenched fist and curled his toes tight toward the pads of his feet.

She clipped the thread and bound his hand with layers of gauze, tapering it off with a tug and securing the cotton to his padded hand.

He rose his hand to his face and examined the palm of his hand. “You’re good at this.”

She returned the items into the box and popped to her feet, placing the wooden box back in the drawer, “It’s much harder to do on yourself.” She shut the drawer and turned toward him, “You are welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Brady said. “One less thing to worry about.”

“Did Cassandra have anything to say about what happened?”

“Just if it was possible for Corypheus to be resurrected again.”

“I am sure the Venatori loyalists hope for that to be true.”

He grabbed the bottle from the floor and stood. “This ‘Captain’ must be leading this faction, the madam some sort of agent.”

“If they have access to red lyrium, they could prove more dangerous than we may expect.”

“All the more reason to get this done and get out of here as quick as possible.” He took a swig of whiskey and placed the empty bottle beside the bed.

“Brady,” Leliana’s brows pursed together as she approached him. “Are you alright?”

A slick smile slipped across his lips. “Don’t I seem alright?”

“No.”

“Well,” he huffed, his smile fading. “I am.”

“Right, so the drinking—”

“You’re looking way too into it,” he said and ran his hand across the bristled stubble on his jaw, “I was thirsty.”

Her arms weaved together over her chest, her forehead crinkling above her arched brows, “And has nothing to do with speaking to Cassandra?”

“Not in the slightest,” he squinted one eye and clicked his tongue, wiggling his finger at her, “Don’t you start getting all spy tactics on me. I’m fine, I swear I am.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, “You are such a terrible, terrible liar.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Leliana. Would you like me to spill out all my feelings? Blabber on about how much this sucks?”

She rose a single brow and unraveled her arms, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. She patted her hand on the empty space beside her. “Come on.”

He snickered, “I was being facetious.”

She glared at him, concrete on her conviction. He protested, but surrendered to her stare, groaning as he sat beside her. She grinned and folded her hands into her lap, “Alright. Let’s have it.”

Brady was quick to unravel, dispelling every evoked emotion from his conversation with Cassandra. Leliana listened, watching the dam around his feelings crack and demolish until honest thoughts flowed and escaped from his lips.

His eyes fell to the floor, “What she said, it was like picking at a scab,” he sighed. “Better to be done with it.”

“But are you?”

“I’m getting there,” the corners of his mouth twitched into a smirk. “A little bit more time and a little bit more booze should do the trick.”

Their conversation swayed to sharing stories of their companions that remained at Skyhold. They argued ideologies and prodded each other until compromises were capable of being created, teasing and toying with one another until sleep started to corrupt their clear minds.

Leliana wished Brady a goodnight, an air of disappointment falling upon him as she walked out of his bedroom door. He caught himself stuck with a smile, chuckling at the things she said and wishing that the night had more time and delayed the inevitable task that was to be done once the morning sun rose.


	7. Leads and the Freed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the investigation continues, Brady and Leliana begin to follow new leads.

Brady sprung from sleep breathless, his skin soaked in a cold sweat. Dawn crept through his window and painted his bedroom with its rosy pink light. Every attempt to return to sleep was corrupted by the recurring terrors that became too common of a companion.

He rolled out of bed, stretched his limbs, and peered out of the window. The courtyard was desolate, save for a few birds bathing in the fountain and lingering high above the walls of the cathedral. He gathered that it would be a few hours until he could wake Leliana for work after a few moments entertaining the idea of waking her anyway.

At Skyhold, Cullen would have already had the troops ready for their morning routines. Early mornings in Skyhold were never as quiet as it was at the cathedral and Brady resented the fact that he had little to do to pass his time. He dressed into makeshift training wear regardless, fastening his blade in a leather scabbard across his back and slipping out of the room.

He wandered the halls of the cathedral until he found the corridor that led to a path to the templars’ training grounds outside. The path stretched far from the main building. Statues of prominent Andrastian figures lined the pebbled path, each glancing away from Brady. Once he reached the end of the trail, he saw a collection of wooden barracks placed behind the training yard. A sparring ring sat in the center of the grounds with rows of straw dummies planted around the perimeter, racks of wooden weapons accompanying each set of targets.

Brady tossed his scabbard in front of a dummy and sprinted laps around the training yard, shedding his shirt as the Orlesian sun grew potent in the morning sky. With each lap, he noticed the barracks come alive with grumpy groans and grumbles. Some came out of their barracks and hissed at the sun, spewing obscenities after they read their orders for the day. Others were dressed in their sparring gear and left their responsibilities to join Brady in his run around the grounds. A few brave souls kept pace with Brady, occupying the time with a line of questions and the trading of war stories.

Upon returning to the center of the training grounds, a few bright-eyed templars propositioned Brady to spar against them. Brady obliged, boasting his Free Marcher training after each victory. Orlesian, Fereldan, Antivan, Nevarran— their origins announced themselves through the subtle beats of their stature, the way they swung a sword, the way they shrunk back or stepped forward when switching to defense.

All merriment ceased at the sight of a man decorated in Silverite templar armor and a heavy helmet with a raised visor trudging towards the sparring ring.

Brady met him by the fence and held out his hand. “Brady Trevelyan. You must be the Knight-Captain. You command a great bunch, Ser.” The man stared down at Brady’s offered hand and scrunched his nose, crossing his arms over his chest. Brady pulled his hand back and rubbed the nape of his neck.

“Honored guest or not,” the Knight-Captain said, his accent foreign to Brady’s ear. “I run routines with a specific decorum, Inquisitor. None of which involve trivial interruptions from guests.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘trivial,’ ser,” Brady said. “Some of your people deserve a decent challenge now and then.” The man sneered. Brady narrowed his eyes with a nod, “But, I do understand the desire to do things a certain way,” Brady hopped out of the sparring ring and stood over the man. “My commander is the same way. All work and no play,” he smirked, “for the most part.”

“I’d rather you not compare me to that defector.”

Brady took a step forward, his grin disappearing from his face. “And I’d rather you not refer to him like that.”

The Knight-Captain stood silent, his hard blue eyes steady on Brady’s face. The templars watched the exchange, the whistle of the wind the only sound slicing the silence. Brady pushed through the man and collected his sword and scabbard from across the yard, and the templars roared back to their routines as the man paced away from the training yard and entered one of the barracks.

Brady took possession of a vacated straw dummy and vented the last of his excess energy on rigorous sets of sword strikes from varying disciplines of melee training. He received curious glances from the warriors practicing beside him, suppressing a chuckle at every hint of one of them attempting to emulate a certain tactic.

Lay sisters began to occupy the training yard, handing templars stacks of clean linen and folded pieces of parchment. Brady sheathed his blade and freshened up with a fresh basin of water, his heated skin soothed by each splash of cold water.

“Inquisitor! Inquisitor Trevelyan!” A lay sister hustled toward Brady with her hands lifting her robes away from her quick moving feet. Brady met her halfway with a brisk walk. She thanked him and caught her breath, her fair-skinned cheeks rosy red. A pair of hazel eyes beamed beneath the color on her face, her blonde hair frizzed and askew in a loose ponytail. She flipped her hair over her face and retied it on top of her hair. Her cheeks filled with breath and exited her lips with a pursed exhale. “Lady Leliana told me to inform you that you are late for a meeting with the Divine.”

Brady crossed his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t aware of a meeting, sister…?”

“Dae, your worship,” she replied with a curtsy. She straightened with a smile. Her eyes peered into his and descended to his bare torso, following the trails of beaded water roll down his skin, her eyebrow arching once her gaze reached the loose waistline of his trousers. Brady cleared his throat and recaptured her eyes into his. She blinked and waved her hand towards the path, “Please, if you will follow me.”

“I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes for me.”

“I really don’t think that will be necessary,” Dae said.

Brady followed Dae on the trail back to the Cathedral. He noticed her passing glances and regretted not swiping a shirt to cover himself with. He adjusted the strings of his trousers and felt her eyes on him again. His eyes slid to her as he knotted the dangling strings.

“My eyes are up here, m’lady,” Brady said. Dae’s eyes snapped to Brady’s face, a wave of crimson corrupting her cheeks once again. She rose her hand to her lips and cleared her throat, apologizing for her indecency. Brady let out a laugh to lighten the space between them. “I take it you didn’t spend your entire life in the chantry.”

“Only a few do,” she said, staring down the trail. “I must seem the depraved libertine to you.”

He shook his head. “No, just human.”

"I haven’t taken my vows yet,” she said, then chuckled. “That sounded like a proposition, didn’t it? It wasn’t my intention. What I’m trying to say is—”

Brady raised his hand and silenced her. “I think I understand.”

She sighed with a smile, “Oh, good.”

“Third or fourth daughter of some noble?” Brady guessed.

She clicked her tongue, “How’d you know?”

“I’m the youngest. My family was prepared to send me to the templars.”

“Imagine if they did,” Dae said. “I wonder who I would be speaking to now.” She tucked a loose blonde hair behind her ear. “The Maker had a distinct plan for you.”

“It’s a good thing,” Brady lifted a brow. “I would have made an awful templar.”

“Oh, no. I’m sure you would have been fine.”

“You must’ve missed the Knight-Captain chewing me out,” Brady chuckled. “I can only imagine how many guys like him are in the Order. I would be kicked out before my first lick of lyrium.”

Dae scoffed with a dismissive wave of her hand, “Don’t take it personal. He’s like that with everyone.”

They reached the garden entrance into the cathedral, Brady told Dae he knew the way to the Divine’s private office. Dae frowned at the abrupt ending of their conversation and offered to give Brady an intimate tour of the grounds, suggesting that the lay sisters knew which crevices of the cathedral were best for revelry. Brady left her with an amused smile and that he would consider her offer.

Brady entered the private office and received Leliana and Cassandra’s eyes, seated across from one another at Cassandra’s cluttered desk. Cassandra waved her hand to the empty seat beside Leliana. Brady took a seat and folded his hands in his lap.

Cassandra raised a brow, “Have you left your clothes at Skyhold?”

“Most of them,” Brady quipped, glancing down at his bare chest. “No one has seemed to mind.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and leaned back onto her ornate desk chair, the golden arms disappearing underneath her white robe sleeves. She leaned forward and pushed a small stack of parchment to the other side of the desk. “Your agents did well, Leliana.”

Leliana collected the stack of parchment and handed it to Brady. Brady scanned through the reports and handed it back to Leliana, “The madame was in contact with a chevalier.”

Leliana nodded. “Intimately, yes, if the raunchy correspondence isn’t enough to confirm that.”

“You think he knows something?”

Leliana shrugged, “It’s a promising lead. Everything else looked like it was burned in her fireplace.”

Brady’s forehead crinkled. “But they ignored her letters with this chevalier?”

“They were in a secret compartment in her vanity. Whoever swept her office didn’t know of it.”

“Bouvier,” Brady recalled from the report. “Do we know him?”

Leliana twisted toward the desk and retrieved a loose piece of parchment. Her eyes stayed on the page, “He’s young. His family have a decent amount of influence in Val Royeaux. Their connections span the continent,” she returned the parchment onto the desk. “Their wealth has been dwindling since the start of the age. Bad investments.”

“The Bouviers helped fund Gaspard during the civil war,” Cassandra said. “Much of their kin have served as chevaliers. Their loyalty to the order—to Gaspard— has placed them in a desperate position in the game.”

“Which makes him exploitable,” Brady guessed. They nodded in agreement. “So let’s see what he knows, bring him in for questioning.”

“He may not be aware of the madame’s death,” Leliana stated. “Questioning him could inform him. Right now, were one step ahead.”

Brady ran his hand over the bristled stubble on his jaw. “So what’s our next move?”

“We have the madame’s letters and a few unsent correspondences. We forge her hand, tell her that he needs to meet a possible recruit,” Leliana said. “If he shows up at the meeting place, then it might prove he is a part of this.”

 “And then what? We wait?” Brady said, his tone sharp. “We don’t know what these people want, what they are capable of. Time is sensitive.”

“I already arranged one of my agents to meet with him at a café in Val Royeaux. We’ll know by the evening. In the meantime,” Leliana handed Brady a folded piece of parchment. Brady unfolded the parchment as Leliana spoke, “The friend you made last night wishes to speak to you.”

The letter gave an address and a time: A marketplace in the depths of Val Royeaux after noon. Brady glanced up from the letter and twisted it in his hand. “Is this it?”

“It’s enough to see what she wants,” Leliana said. “It could prove fruitful.” Brady refolded the letter and tossed it onto Cassandra’s desk. “I placed an outfit on your bed. You’ll want to get washed up and ready. Best not to keep her waiting.”

Brady grumbled and stood up from his chair.

Leliana raised her chin and smirked, “And Inquisitor? You should shave. It seems she has taking a liking to you, so being as… presentable… as possible would help.”

“Nonsense,” Cassandra said. “It adds to your appearance, if anything.”

Brady’s head cocked to the side, a smile slipping on his face. Leliana and Cassandra shared a look. Leliana hummed an amused chuckle, turning her head toward Brady and examining his face through her eyelashes. She pursed her lower lip and swiped a stray hair from her face. “I see.” Leliana shifted in her seat, “Then do as you wish, Inquisitor. I will meet you at the gates when you are ready.”

* * *

 

From the sparkling golden gates to Val Royeaux’s vestibule of expensive shops with chattering nobles draped in expensive fabrics and gemmed masks, the less pristine sections went unnoticed to visiting dignitaries and wide-eyed young nobles that treated the city like the center jewel in the Empress’ crown. Val Royeaux was no different than any capital city, equipped with homes accented with grime and shady merchants hiding in the shadowed streets of the slums.

Brady and Leliana walked side by side through the claustrophobic streets of a long-dismissed section of the city. When they met at the gates, Leliana praised him for not altering her choice in clothing and appreciated the sight of his freshly shaven face. She dressed him in a tan tunic tucked into brown trousers with a braided belt. His mahogany riding boots were caked in mud as they stuck to the back alleys, where curious eyes only managed glimpses when they passed.

Leliana wore a grey tunic cinched with a dark leather belt at the waist that flowed over her tight riding trousers and lightweight boots that matched her belt. They wore matching white masks that mimicked an allied Orlesian family’s design with golden thread branching from the bottom of the mask and silver beading circling around their eyes.

They approached a produce stand that overlooked the water. The petite red-headed elf stood in front of the merchant’s wares examining a bushel of elfroot. Leliana gave Brady a quick nod and broke away from him, disappearing within the crowd of muttered conversation. Brady took a breath and stood beside the red-headed elf.

“Embrium cures a cough,” Brady murmured.

The red-headed elf returned the bushel of elfroot to its basket. “But elfroot is best for headaches.”

Brady ticked his chin toward the street. The red-headed elf followed beside him, her eyes darting across each face in the crowd. Brady shoved his hands into his pockets and stared ahead. “I’m glad you were able to find one of my people after last night.”

“They were very accommodating, your people. I can’t thank you enough.”

Brady led her to a railing that overlooked the water. He rested his forearms against the rusted metal railing and looked to her, “Your letter said you needed to talk to me personally.”

She looked down to her shoes. “Forgive me for dragging you out here. I trust your agents, but—”

“Think nothing of it,” Brady said. “Is there something wrong?”

She leaned her back against the railing and watched the crowd swirl at the heart of the small marketplace. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the Madame’s wishes. I keep going back in my mind, trying to remember anything that explains why she would ask for us to get rid of you. And the reward,” she took a breath and shook her head. “She wasn’t one to break shackles. For anything.”

“You think she was lying?”

“No, that’s the thing,” she said. “She would have had to follow through. It would only take one of us to tell the city guard of what she asked to ruin it for her. Keeping her promise would have kept us quiet.”

“She must have really wanted me dead.”

She chuckled, “Yes.”

“So,” Brady twisted around and leaned his back against the railing. “Did you remember anything that sticks out?”

The red-headed elf glimpsed up to Brady and beckoned him closer. Brady wrapped his arm around her and she brought her lips to his ear. “There was a man that came in often. Never asked for any of our services. But he and the madame spoke frequently, most of the time in her office.”

Brady rested his cheek atop of her head, “Do you remember what he looks like?”

“Tall. A mess of dark hair,” she nuzzled closer to him. “Never wore the same mask twice… or the same set of armor.”

“Anything else? An accent or a verbal tic, maybe? Something that can help identify him?”

“He sounded Orlesian,” she said, crinkling her brow. “Or someone who was very good at faking it.”

Brady glanced down the pathway and saw Leliana purchase a bauble from a merchant. She caught his eyes and tucked a hair behind her ear. He pulled away from the red-headed elf. “Walk down this pathway and make a left at the fisherman’s wares. There are Inquisition agents there that will take you to a safe place to stay in the city for now. If you need anything, all you have to do is ask them.”

She nodded. Brady pulled her into a hug and walked in the opposite direction of the red-headed elf once they separated from their embrace. Brady drug his feet down the dusty pathway until he felt an arm snake around his.

“Well done,” Leliana said, quick to catch the rhythm of his step. He glanced down at her with a grin and allowed her to lead the way to a cache hidden in the back of an abandoned storefront. She locked the door behind them and looked through a crack in the stone masonry. Once she was certain they were not followed, she entered a cobweb infested closet and tossed a backpack through the threshold.

As she unlatched the backpack, Brady relayed the information he received about the suspicious patron. Leliana hummed and handed Brady a stack of folded clothes. He looked at her sideways. She huffed and placed her change of clothes onto a dusty wooden countertop. “Quickly, Inquisitor.”

Brady unfolded the loose navy-blue tunic and held it over his face. He peeked over the collar at Leliana. “You want me to—?”

“What?” She huffed, undoing the belt around her waist and shedding her cotton tunic. He swallowed and turned around once Leliana’s fingers undid the buttons of her trousers. A sardonic laugh left her as she pulled off her boots, “Would you like me to shut my eyes?”     

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Leliana shimmy out of her trousers. His eyes snapped forward, stammering an apology. She scolded him and insisted he make haste of dressing. He did as he was told, fumbling with his belt buckle and almost tripping over his trousers when they caught on his boots. A heavy exhale emerged from behind him. A pair of hands gripped the sides of his tunic and forced it away from his shoulders, static forcing his blonde hair to stand on his head. He kicked off his boots and stepped out of his trousers. Leliana handed him the new, pressed pair of loose trousers. He slipped them on and shoved his boots back on, working his arms into the navy-blue tunic. Leliana shot him a grin and they exited the abandoned storefront, disappearing into the crowd, arm-in-arm, using the bustling voices of the crowded streets to make them shadows beneath the Orlesian sun.


	8. Wine, Woman, and Song

 Leliana’s agent made contact with Bouvier that afternoon. Bouvier took the bait and arranged another meeting at a secluded café just outside of the city. Brady and Leliana were to replace the agent’s presence at the meeting and question Bouvier about everything he knows.

But that was tomorrow’s task.

For the rest of the day, Brady struggled to entertain himself. The Cathedral was a masterwork of architecture, a physical symbol of centuries old history, a beacon of hope and faith— but entertainment? That it surely lacked.

So, he took up Dae’s offer of a tour.

The surface tour of the Cathedral consisted of Dae pointing at specific chairs in specific rooms, giving a lengthy history on whose ass sat where and what world-shaking decisions were made beneath oil painting portraits of Andraste and various artists’ imaginings of events from the Chant.

Several lay sisters attached themselves to the personal tour. They talked over one another, their commentary a mess of chatter that made Brady’s head spin. Soon enough, the lay sisters tugged on Brady’s shirt sleeves and hung onto his arms, asking of his adventures with the Inquisition with bright eyes and brighter smiles.

Dae noticed the overwhelmed Inquisitor and redirected the course of their tour, reminding each of the curious women of the duties they had to fulfill before nightfall.

She brought him to the Cathedral’s main library.

Brady gawked at the ceiling length bookshelves that lined the walls in every direction. Dae insisted he indulge in dissecting the massive collection while she found a suitable table away from the Clerics and scholars.

Brady skipped the history and religious sections and pulled two leather-backed books from the fiction section: both installments from Varric’s _Hard in Hightown_. He found Dae beneath the stained-glass windows with a book propped on the table and sat across from her.

“This is my favorite spot,” Dae said, her eyes glued to her book.

Brady hooked his finger around her book and tipped it backwards. A small novel with a tattered leather cover revealed itself between the pages of the larger book. Dae blushed and tugged both books upright.

“I prefer these,” he waved the copy of _Hard in Hightown_ and opened the leather cover. “But his romances have an… appeal, I suppose.”

“I heard it was the Divine’s favorite,” Dae tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “Curiosity is all.”

Brady finished three-quarters of the latter installment and quit when the sun dimmed. Dae asked if he wished to join the rest of the lay sisters for a quiet wine night. He declined with a half-hearted excuse of exhaustion. Disappointed, she bid him goodnight and left for her obligations.

Brady lifted a bottle of wine from the kitchen before he scaled the winding staircase to the cathedral’s guest wing.

The melodic picking of lute strings echoed down the guest hall. Brady recognized the song: one of Merydan’s favorites to perform when The Herald’s Rest was quiet and calm. But this rendition was slower, solemn; the lyrics sung in Orlesian.

He followed the song to its source. A slight crack in Leliana’s bedroom door allowed the music to flow through the hall.

He froze outside her door and listened to the song. Despite her renown fame and talent as a bard, he realized that it was the first time he ever heard her play. He’d heard her hum a tune occasionally during meetings at the war table, sure— and of course after the fall of Haven— but what he heard from the hall exceeded both her reputation and any of his expectations.

She could stop a war, he thought, even if only for the duration of the song.

When she finished, he knocked a knuckle against her door. The lute strings rung as she put the instrument down and greeted him at the door with a small smile, waving her hand for him to enter.

“I didn’t know—” he murmured and turned to her. Her arms folded over her chest with a tilt of her head. He placed the wine bottle atop of an ornate dresser. “That was beautiful.”

She bowed her head. “I’m a bit out of practice. But thank you.”

“I can see why you’re everyone’s favorite bard,” Brady said. “They probably risked it all just to hear you play.”

Leliana looked up to Brady through her eyelashes, color rushing to her cheeks. “Yes, well… Intrigue always seemed to leave with the song.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Brady sat on her bed and frowned. He bounced on the mattress and ran his hand across her pastel blue bedsheets. “I suppose not all guest rooms are treated the same.”

“What? Oh,” she poured wine into two silver goblets and handed one to Brady. “A personal request.”

He kicked his boots off and propped himself up on the pillows against the whitewood headboard, resting his goblet on his lap. A cheeky smile slipped on his lips. Leliana rolled her eyes and sipped her wine. She slapped his feet on the center of the bed and sat beside him once he made room.

Brady shut his eyes and sighed. “I miss Skyhold.”

“I do, too,” Leliana said. “Much has changed since I was last here. It is not the same without Justinia.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Brady sat up and dangled his goblet between his bent knees. “Are you alright?”

“It’s nothing of concern,” she shook her head and looked to him. His smile had disappeared, his blue eyes soft, concentrated on her. “Just… strange. Different.”

Brady sipped his wine. “Should’ve stayed at an inn.”

“The Inquisitor and his spymaster checking into an inn together,” Leliana mused. “What would the people think?”

“I’m sure you’d find a way to keep it quiet.”

“Well,” she ran her hand across her bedsheets. “I doubt any inn has this fabric.”

He placed his empty goblet on the floor and flopped back against the bed, stretching out his toes. “Right.”

“No,” Leliana scolded. She set her goblet beside his and hurled a throw pillow at his head. He caught and cradled the pillow, uttering a thank you before nuzzling deeper into the bed and shutting his eyes. “I’ll stab you, I mean it.”

He opened one eye and smirked, “Does this material stain?”

“We’re about to find out.”

He feigned fright, raising his hands above his head. “Mercy, Nightingale. Show some mercy.”

She giggled. “You’re ridiculous.”

He offered to leave. She waved him off and insisted he stay, just as long as he didn’t fall asleep. He agreed and hopped out of the bed, grabbing his goblet and walking across the room to refill it. “The lay sisters invited me to their wine night.”

“And you refused?”

Brady shrugged, “I’d rather be up here.” He gulped down a mouthful of wine. “Besides, I have a feeling they’d get me into trouble.”

“More like into bed.” Brady arched his brows. Leliana waved her hand, “At least, they’ve thought about it.”

Brady narrowed his eyes and pointed his goblet at Leliana with a grin, “You jest.”

“They’re not subtle,” she snickered. “You honestly have not noticed?”

He glanced down at his wine with a slight pout. “Not… entirely.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m here, then.”

He refreshed her drink and plopped beside her on the bed. “I guess I’m out of practice.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Leliana said, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Hopefully.”

“Some bard training… now that would help. The art of seduction and allure,” he purred the last word, amusing himself enough to laugh.

She drank from her goblet and wiggled her index finger. “Only if you plan to lie to every woman you court.” A look of confusion flashed on his face. Leliana continued, “Bards seduce targets based on what they believe that person wants. Sometimes, it’s a warm body. Mostly, it’s someone to talk to… a friend.”

“And you were good at it?”

“Quite.”

He raised his brows and sipped his wine. “I’m sure they didn’t care about being taken advantage of by you.”

“No one ever complained,” she squinted. “Well, they did… but only after, never before.”

He leaned in and smirked, the scent of cherry wine on his words. “I’m immune to seduction.”

“That’s what they all say,” she snickered before taking another sip of wine.

With a cocky grin, he craned his chin. “There’s a reason no one has lured me into bed,” he tapped a finger against his temple, “Too smart to be tricked.”

“No,” her voice softened. She lifted her eyes into his. His brows knitted as he waited for her to elaborate. “You were in love.”

At that, he deflated with a heavy sigh, his cocksure grin replaced with a small frown.

“You act like that’s a bad thing.” She shrugged, “I think it speaks volumes about who you are.”

“A love-sick mabari?”

She laughed and rested a hand on his forearm. “A loyal love-sick mabari. Devotion is hard to come by, believe me.”

“Trust me, I know.” He ran his hand through his short blonde locks and sneered, “All those political marriages— marrying someone for power or wealth— I could never—”

“So you have seen the stack of betrothal requests on Josephine’s desk?” Leliana laughed. “If it makes you feel better, some of them are for Cullen.”

A chuckle relaxed the tension in his expression. “I don’t know… All I’m saying is that if you’re going to marry, marry for love.”

“I didn’t peg you as a romantic.”

“I’ve got secrets of my own.”

“One less, now.”

He shook his head at her, huffing a laugh through his nose. “One less, now.”


	9. An Average Day in Orlais

The next day, Leliana and Brady went to the agent’s specified meeting place: a quiet indoor café tucked away from the bustle of the marketplace. Leliana and Brady sat in a booth beside the bar. Sconces accompanied every booth, the bright candlelight combating the lack of sunlight from the drawn burgundy curtains. Brady used the afternoon as an excuse to order an ale, promising Leliana to limit himself to one. Given the size of the mug he was served, one may be just enough.

Leliana dressed Brady in a champagne tinted cuirass, its collar lined with faux red fox fur. The mask she chose for him doubled as a helmet and matched the color of the cuirass. It swept over his face, covering his right eye and the bridge of his nose, but left his jaw, mouth, and nostrils exposed. His hair hid beneath the helmet, the recognizable golden blonde locks only present above his left ear, slicked back and tucked away. The cuirass was more fashion than function and the mask rubbed the bridge of his nose raw. It was Leliana’s enthusiasm as she laid his hand-picked outfit on his bed that morning that kept his complaints silent.

Leliana’s light Orlesian Empire military armor fit fine on her frame. The rich blue fabric slacked at her shoulders, accompanied by a loose red satin collar piece that hung over her chest. Her mask was the simple, standard half-moon shape that was worn by many of Celene’s soldiers. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun.

Brady knew the cover Leliana wished to project: A noblemen and a soldier shedding secrets over champagne. Though he would have preferred a disguise more loose-fitting on his frame, he would endure the loathsome garb, if only for a few hours.

Sitting across from him, she regretted the choice of attire. She thought the muted color would disrupt his more striking features. Instead, the champagne tint made his pair of blue eyes beam and accentuated the youthful plump in his ruby colored lips. The candlelit café didn’t help. She hoped that placing him with his back to the main bar would help dismantle the beacon-like presence he possessed.

Brady took a sip from the sweating beer stein and placed it back onto the table. He looked at the bubbling ale and smacked his lips together. “Does everything in Orlais have sugar in it?”

Leliana tilted her head and hooked her finger around the handle, sliding across the table. She raised it to her lips and lapped a layer of foam from her top lip with a sweep of her tongue. “I like it,” Leliana shrugged. “You don’t?”

Brady reclaimed his ale. “It’s different.”

“Different is good,” she said as she glanced around Brady to her impatient agent seated at the bar. Brady recognized the look in her eyes, her vision darting over the faces and shadowed corners in the café with a slight crinkle in her brow, noting of every small detail she came across and deducing escape routes. Her brow arched as Brady fought off a smile. “What?”

“You’re enjoying yourself.”

She craned her neck to glance over Brady’s head. “And?”

“And nothing.”

A man dressed in ceremonial chevalier armor passed Brady’s side of the booth and stared at Leliana, his mask keeping his intentions safe. He spoke to Leliana in fluent Orlesian. Brady sneered into his drink as the man ignored his existence. Leliana replied to the stranger with an amused expression— her soft but strong accent flowed from her lips like a breeze caressing rose petals. At that moment, Brady wished he paid attention to his language tutor as a child.

The man snapped his fingers and summoned a servant with a tray of wine balanced on one hand. The man plucked a frosted glass from the platter by its stem and served it to Leliana. With a genteel bow, he murmured something to Leliana and went for the door.

Brady’s sour expression brought a smirk to Leliana’s lips. He eyed his ale as though it was the most interesting thing in the café. She looked back to the entrance, the smirk still present. He grumbled and followed her eyes, “What’s that look for?”

She propped her head up in her hands and displayed a playful coyness in her expression. “What look?”

“That look.” Brady wiggled his finger at her face.

“No need to be jealous, Inquisitor.”

“I don’t get jealous.”

Leliana looked at Brady from the corner of her eye and winked, then returned her sights to the door.

“I don’t,” he retorted, snapping upright. He huffed a breath and took another drink. Leliana assumed their debate had ended, until Brady continued: “Why would I be jealous of him anyway?”

She turned toward the wine and pushed it toward Brady. Brady scrutinized the blood red wine. Leliana pointed to the inside of the glass. “Sniff it.”

He lowered his nose over the glass and took a whiff. The wine smelled bitter, but nothing of note jumped out at him. Leliana reached below the table and pulled a small, clear vile filled with a fine, white powder. She emptied the small vial into the glass. The white powder soaked in the center of the glass but failed to dissolve.

She turned away from the glass and shrugged. “It’s poisoned.”

Brady stiffened, scanning the room in vain for the man who had long departed from the café.

“He’ll come back to see if I’m dead,” Leliana said with boredom in her voice. “And buy me a clean glass if he sees I still breathe.”

Brady frowned. “People just… do that here? That’s monstrous.”

“That’s Orlais for you.”

Leliana perked up at the sound of the entrance door chiming. A fair-haired man stood by the door and glossed his eyes over each patron in the café. He wore a white ruffled shirt with padded shoulders beneath a powdered blue vest with golden trim and light riding trousers that matched the color of his vest. A silver mask covered his eyes and reflected the candlelight.

Leliana tucked her legs beneath the table and took Brady’s hand with a vibrant smile and a flirtatious simmer in her eyes. “Tell me something interesting.”

Brady stammered, distracted by the playful patterns her fingers drew up and down his arm. An insistence flashed on her face. His mind failed to produce a reply. “Elfroot has medicinal effects if you smoke enough of it,” he finally said. “According to Solas.”

Leliana snorted and snapped her hand over mouth. She separated her fingers, exposing a bright smile. “Not that.”

He chuckled and bowed his head, “You didn’t give me requirements.”

Leliana watched the fair-haired man sit beside her agent once he swelled with a false security. The agent gave Leliana the signal while she spoke close to the man. With a soft squeeze on Brady’s hand, she stood up and approached the man, taking a seat beside him. Brady watched the exchange from over his shoulder. Leliana’s dagger pressed against the man’s ribs and filled his eyes with fear. Brady shook his head and drank his ale with a few glances to the poisoned wine still seated in the center of the table.

Soon enough, Brady was directed to make room for Bouvier. His face was slick with sweat. He looked to be about Brady’s age, if not a few years younger. His smooth skin was golden with the light of youth and patchy facial hair that seemed to grow only above his lip and beneath his chin. His coffee colored brown eyes flashed around beneath his mask.

Leliana introduced Brady as the member of some made up noble house. Bouvier spun to face Brady and stammered, “I had no idea she was your wife.” Bouvier reached into his pocket and spilled coin onto the table, “Is it coin you want? I swear on the Maker, I didn’t know. Forgive me, please, Lord Du Faux.”

Brady glanced at Leliana. With her eyes expressing a certain expectation in his reaction, Brady raised his exposed brow and took a sip from his ale.

“What did you do with the Madame, Bouvier?” Leliana asked.    

Brady looked at the boy with his chin craned. Bouvier stared at Leliana. Leliana urged Bouvier to answer. Bouvier sighed, “She liked roleplay. The Orlesian noble and the Fereldan farmhand—”

Brady sputtered and splattered his ale all over the coins scattered across the table. Brady swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “The recruiting, kid. Tell me about that.”

Bouvier stiffened. “I’m not to speak of it.”

Brady’s jaw pulsed as he glared at Bouvier. Bouvier held his resolve until Brady slammed his fist against the table, silencing the other patrons in the café. “You slept with my wife, dammit. I deserve to know what she was up to.”

Bouvier gulped and murmured an apology. “She wanted people who were impressionable. She asked that I get their opinions on the Empress, the new Divine… all that political bullshit. If they fit what she wished, I was to send them directly to her.”

“For what?”

“She never told you?”

Brady narrowed his eyes. “That surprises you?”

“I— suppose not.” Bouvier rubbed his neck.

“What was she recruiting for, Bouvier?”

Bouvier’s eyes darted between Leliana and Brady. “The resistance, of course.”   

“Resistance,” Leliana murmured. She leaned forward. “Against what?”

“A man of your stature must hear the whispers through the court,” said Bouvier to Brady. “About the Inquisition.”

Brady bobbed his head. “Of course.”

Bouvier eyes lightened. “And you agree?”

Brady watched Leliana nod from the corner of his eye. He replied to Bouvier in the affirmative.

“Blighted bastards. Right, Du Faux?” Bouvier sneered. “Taking the glory of Orlais and defling it with a false Empress and a puppet on the Sunburst throne,” His mask failed to hide the flare of passion that turned his face crimson. “It’s their fault the true emperor of Orlais was executed. I’d make an example of the Inquisitor. Draw and quarter him in front of that false Divine until—”

“You need to relax, boy,” Brady snickered and slid the wine glass in front of him— “Here. I favor ale over wine.”

Bouvier thanked him. Bouvier raised the glass to his lips, then looked at Leliana sideways. He placed the wine back on the table. “You wear the armor of the Empress, soldier. Is that by choice?”

“I would have died for Gaspard,” Leliana replied.

“You’re not alone in that sentiment, I assure you.”

Brady refocused the conversation. “This resistance is after the Inquisition.”

Bouvier nodded, toying with his wine glass. “The Captain and Commander know how to end the menace of the Inquisition.” Bouvier took a gulp of his wine and dabbed his lips with a handkerchief. He stared Brady in the eyes. “They are monsters that hide atop a mountain and only come down to ruin the lives of innocent people.”

“I want to meet them.”

“I’ve never met them, myself.” Bouvier finished his wine and boasted, “We’re everywhere, though. Templars, servants, guards, harlots,” his brows wiggled— “I assume you and the madame aren’t bound by vows any longer. No scandal in reaping the benefits of their membership.”

A wolfish grin appeared on Brady’s face. “I will be sure to remember that.”

“They put the Madame’s whores to shame,” Bouvier snickered.

“It all sounds too good to be true,” Leliana said. “How would we even contact other members?”

With a haughty chuckle, Bouvier folded up his sleeve. A collection of track marks riddled his skin, his veins protruding with a vicious crimson glow. The spider-like pattern crawled up his arm, continuing far above the fold of his sleeve. Etched in black ink on his forearm was the Orlesian proverb: _Quand on veut, on peut._

“Red Lyrium?” Brady murmured to Bouvier.

Bouvier nodded, then fell into a coughing fit. He excused himself and replied, “We defy what the Inquisition believes everyone should be afraid of— to show that they use the fear of things that people don’t understand to control the masses.”

Leliana’s eyes flashed with intrigue. “Is it accessible to everyone?”

Bouvier tugged on his collar, beads of sweat misting his brow and crawling down his face. “If they wish. We’re not like the chantry. We give a choice,” he drew a deep breath, sputtered a cough, then forced a smile. “The strength it gives you… you’ll understand it if you decide to try it.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Brady said with awe.

Bouvier cleared his throat and brought his bloodshot eyes into Brady’s. His forced smile faded into a frown. The skin below his mask was discolored; a tinge of yellow bile corrupting his fair skin. His breaths grew shallow and guttural. The vile sound of choking erupted from his mouth. Bouvier clawed at his throat, the chords of his neck blotched and protruding out of his skin. His mouth gaped like a fish as his eyes darted between them with a silent scream for help distorting his face. Bouvier stared down at his empty wine glass and slammed a clenched fist against the table. His fingers uncoiled with one final gasp of breath while his eyes rolled back into his head. Foam tinged with blood leaked from his lips. His head went limp and rested on the table, small tremors quaking his muscles.

Brady stared at the dying Bouvier until his body ceased to seize and downed the rest of his ale. He held his head in his hands and cursed. He did not dare to look at Bouvier. Leliana gave her agent the signal to clean up the mess while Brady climbed over the booth and stormed toward the exit of the café. Brady made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder in search of Leliana. Instead, he saw the Inquisition agent and the barkeep tossing Bouvier’s corpse into a cart and rolling him toward the backroom of the café, his lifeless face frozen with the fear that filled his final moments.

Brady could not decide what was worse: Bouvier’s ghoulish dead eyes staring at him, or the fact the other patrons in the café went unfazed, sipping on their tea and gorging on their meals as though it was just another afternoon in Orlais.


End file.
